A Biotic in Distress
by paragade.femshep
Summary: Jack in her early twenties, arrested on Tuchanka. Because I always thought her and Wrex would be BFFs. Pre- ME1.


Another day.

Another fight itching to be fought with the next person who dared look at Jack in the eyes.

The only way anyone was getting out of a difficult encounter with her was if they offered her a hit of red sand on the house and a place to stay for the night. She's been kicked out of yet another apartment because of rude behavior to neighbors and excessive hell- isn't this Omega?! Aren't I supposed to be able to do WHAT I want, WHEN I want? Like damn, wasn't that Aria's whole legacy?

Well, by the looks of it, she was sleeping in the streets of the Omega slums tonight. That means putting up with screaming Vorcha, rude batarians, nasty ass food, and all sorts of things that don't make a pampered girl's day any better. She'd have to leave Omega soon and seek refuge in another cult. Just what she wanted, more promises to make and vows to take.

A rusty, dirty den that sold cheap drinks and lousy music was waiting for her at the end of the street. The dim lighting of the slums area softly illuminated the dust particles that were permeating the recycled air in plentiful amounts.

Opening the door to the Den, you could smell the thick air of opium. The music coming from the speaker system was faded and gritty- they were probably broadcasting cheap radio. There was almost no one there, save for a small group of Salarians bickering over the trigonometry of a billiards shot and a lonely looking krogan sitting at a booth by himself.

Not her kind of place, but the best place to avoid conversation.

When she took a seat at the counter, an ad started playing over the speakers:

"Come to Afterlife, the Heart of Omega~"

A pounding techno beat blasted through the speakers, and then faded back into a softer hi-hat groove.

"Fuck Afterlife." Jack whispered as she waved the bartender over.

The aged turian bartender got up from his stool and walked over to Jack.

"What can I get you, miss?"

"Blue Liquor, unsweetened. And a shot of Sambuca."

"Feeling exotic tonight, miss?"

"Oh, fuck off." He didn't need to know anything about her personal affairs.

The turian left to go mix the drink, and she was left alone for a minute or two. She could practically feel the eyes of the Krogan sitting in the booth staring at her tattoos or something, but she wasn't going to turn around to look.

"Your drinks, miss." The turian says, placing the taller glass next to the shot glass.

"Great."

She picked up the glass of liquor and swirled it around in front of her eyes. After a few seconds, she lifted it to her lips and took a sip.

Sugar. Or sweetener, whatever there was, there was to much of it.

She spit it out in the turian bartenders face and gagged.

"I said no sweetener you two-faced-"

"S-sorry let me-"

"-lying son-of-a-"

"-g-get you something else! I didn't mean-"

"-MONGOLOID HANAR BABY WITH A-"

"-t-to taint your order-"

"-MUTATED BALLSACK!"

There was a long, long silence. The salarians at the billiards table all fell silent. The bartender was frozen. Jack's hands were in fists on the counter. The Krogan simply took another sip of his drink and the music droned on in the background.

"Fuck this place." Jack muttered before getting up and walking away.

...

...

"Pay for your drink." A low, gruff voice said.

"What?" Jack asked, just as she reached the door and was about to leave.

"Pay. For. Your. Drink."

The Krogan got up from the booth and walked over to her. "Fleshy, whiny human. You think it's easy running a bar like this?"

"That bird-faced strawman botched my drink-"

"You complain too much. Accept what is given to you."

"Easy to say for someone who lives on a pile of garbage."

The Krogan did not like this remark, and it was very easy to tell by the glare in his eyes and the veins popping out of his face. He grabbed Jack by the neck and dragged her back into the room.

"What did you just say about my home planet?" He asked, staring at Jack with his dark, glassy eyes.

"I said you live on a pile of SHIT-" her biotics flared up around her "-AND YOU should GET YOUR GROSS HANDS OFF ME." She struggled to release his grip, and her strained energy was supressing her biotics. He was strong. Shit, he must have been an official.

She did all she could do, insult.

"Tuchanka smells like a rotting Vorcha! No, like a pile of rotting vorchas, all shoved in a compressor and mixed with vinegar and gasoline! Your legal system makes no fucking sense! You can't reason with a single krogan, none of them think about anything but sex and GUNS. There's a fucking reason you don't have a chair in the council-"

For some reason, she thought this spew of gross remarks would make the krogan back off. But soon, she had her ass shoved to the ground and a gun to her forehead.

Whoever this guy was, he was pretty high up the krogan chain.

And that's how the biotic ended up in a moldy cell on Tuchanka, waiting to get some kind of lesson tought to her.


End file.
